Friends by Fire
by Fishpony
Summary: Valik a Russian immigrant, Isabella a poor factory worker, and Helen a rich American girl become close friends after the horrible Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire of 1911. How can you cope when your life goes up in smoke?
1. Part One, The Fire: Chapter One

**Disclaimer: I don't own PJO **_**or**_** Margaret Peterson Haddix's Uprising **_**or **_**the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory.**

**I apologize for this really long author's note. Skip it if you want.**

AN: This story was partially inspired by Margaret Peterson Haddix's _Uprising_. This story is a lot more serious than my other stories and is the only one based on reality. The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire actually did happen on Saturday, March 25th, 1911. The fire was most likely started because of an unextinguished cigarette butt thrown into a scrap bin under a worker's table on the eighth floor. Someone warned the tenth floor via telephone but there was no way to warn the ninth floor.

The factory had never had a fire drill and many doors were locked to prevent staff from stealing shirtwaists (blouses) and sneaking out. On the ninth floor there were two elevators, two staircases, and two doors. Flames blocked one door and the other was locked. The elevator operators tried to save as many lives as possible but they soon had to stop because of the head. The fire escape collapsed under the weight of people trying to escape.

Sixty two people died jumping out of the windows because the nets set up by the firemen could not hold. A hundred pound person jumping out of a ninth floor window would hit the net with the force of a ton or more. After a few minutes firemen put their nets away.

The number of deaths was approximately 146. The fire could have easily been prevented if safety measures had been increased. The owner of the factory was acquitted and paid highly in insurance for the building damage. In 1913 the owner was fined for leaving the doors to another factory locked.

I hope this story helps breathe new life into this tragedy. Please be informed that this is my interpretation of life in the 1910s. I'm not going to stick to every way of life, sort of speech or popular culture from that time. So I guess it's technically AU.

_The firemen, impossibly tiny down there on the ground, were indeed holding out their nets, standing there so hopefully. Yetta could have laughed at their hopes. It was not exactly a plan Jacob was offering her, not exactly a chance, in the nets and the ladder. But it was something besides flame._

_Jacob bowed to Yetta, as elegantly as if they were about to launch themselves onto a dance floor, instead of into thin air. He would have been a good dance partner, Yetta thought with an ache. He wrapped his arms around Yetta; she wrapped her arms around him._

_And then they jumped._

-excerpt from _Uprising_

**The Fire: Chapter One**

Valik stared open mouthed at the fire that had spread so rapidly from the over flowing scrap bin to the flammable shirtwaist fabric still under the needles of the sewing machines. He had often hoped, make that _prayed, _for a monster to come just to relieve some of the boredom of cutting stray strings off one shirtwaist after another all day. But the chimera had been much more than he bargained for. The factory was on fire, the puny buckets of water useless, because he hadn't been fast enough with his arrows.

Girls screamed and rushed toward the elevator. People pounded on the elevator doors but no operator came. The flames, as mighty as the monster that created them, bore down on the workers. The smoke made Valik cough. His eyes stung and tears flowed freely down his face. _Why did I leave Russia? _He thought despairingly. _Because there were more opportunities in America. _He answered his own question. If his throat hadn't been as dry as the air in the room he would have laughed. _Opportunity. Suffocation by smoke or burned to death by fire._

People banged on the doors screaming for someone to open knew no one would. No one was worried about the poor immigrant workers_. _They could just hire twice as many to take their places. There was one way out though. Valik peered out the open window. He was on the eighth floor. The people who were watching the fire were as small as the ants that stole crumbs from the meager meals he ate each night. The firemen were spraying water pointlessly at the blaze. They had done one thing right though. Some of them were holding out nets to catch people jumping from the windows. He studied his position, and then he looked at the nets. It was a long shot but maybe he could land near the edge. If he missed he would hit the pavement. A one way trip to the Underworld. But if he stayed here he would certainly die…

A vice strong grip clamped down on his arm and pulled him away from the window. It was Alexandra. She was Russian like him; they had met each other on Ellis Island. She was also a daughter of Athena.

"The firemen. They will catch us," Valik croaked, hardly able to talk.

"Those nets will not catch anyone," Alexandra responded in perfect English, "You will die if you jump," she said grimly, her gray eyes flashing like storm clouds.

Valik knew there was no point in arguing with her. Alexandra was usually right, "I will die if I stay," he muttered. The flames were so hot he could feel his skin getting dryer and dryer. He imagined himself as a piece of tinder. Just another thing to feed the fire.

Alexandra frowned, "That is a distinct possibility. Dash it all Valik! This is why we should have stayed on strike! If we hadn't given in they would not get away with locking us in!" Alexandra had been one of the fiercest strikers out of everyone. She proudly boasted about being sent to prison four times. She hadn't even bothered trying to cover the bruise on her face after the police had beaten her for 'disturbing the peace'.

"It's too late now Alexandra," Valik murmured in defeat. He put his arms around her and she didn't even shrug him off. He prayed silently to his father. _I promise that if Alexandra and I live I'll train harder at camp. I don't want to die. I don't want Alexandra to die. _

Suddenly a hoarse cheer came up from the crowd and the screams in various languages quieted. Someone had opened the door. A vicious stampede erupted. To Valik it felt like a herd of Minotaurs had been let loose. Alexandra and Valik had to fight their way through the crowd. More than one unfortunate girl was trampled. Valik felt a stab of sorrow and anger. _Alexandra was right. We should have kept striking. If we had this wouldn't have happened. If we had people wouldn't have died._

Halfway down the stairs toward freedom Alexandra stopped, "Nobody warned the ninth and tenth floor," she muttered.

Valik was struck with panic, "You cannot go! We are safe now! We should leave while we can!"

Alexandra shook her head. Her voice had the same steely determination it always had when she wouldn't back down, "No. Do you not see Valik!? They will jump out the windows. The nets will not catch them. No one should die that way. What about Eileen and Aiden? They are on the ninth floor!"

Valik had completely forgotten about the Irish twins. They had met at Camp Half-Blood the previous year and had become fast friends. It was too painful, the thought of them dying. Eileen was always so cheerful and kind. She always acted very optimistic as Aiden stole your wages right out from under your nose.

Alexandra kissed him on the cheek and tried to smile. She turned around and headed up the stairs, "I'll be back before you know it!"

***

Aiden looked mournfully at the ground so far below him. There was nothing to stop him. Eileen was safe. He had pushed her into the elevator himself. She would make it outside where the fire could not swallow her like a hungry cat swallowing a mouse. His twin was safe but he was not. There had been no room for her in the elevator. Eileen had refused to go without him but he had made her leave him alone with the flames.

A girl screamed as her clothes caught on fire. She frantically tried to beat the flames out to no avail. The fire ate at her raggedy clothes hungrily. She threw herself out the window in desperation.

Aiden stared in horror as she fell nine floors. She didn't hit the net. Revulsion filled him, threatening to make him hurl anything that still remained inside his body. There was no way he could make it. He knew in his heart that he was going to die.

He remembered fleetingly what Edward, son of Hades, had said once about the Underworld. "It's very bleak," he had said, "The dead aren't frightening. They're sad."

_I'm going to find out soon._ He thought.

He took at deep breath, "I'm sorry father, Eileen, mother. I'm sorry," he croaked.

He jumped. The wind rushed around him. The hot rushing air made his skin burn even more. He hit the net.

But then it broke.

**This story is beta-ed by Singerinthesilence**.


	2. Chapter Two

_The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time. _

~Mark Twain

**Chapter Two:**

Isabella was absolutely terrified. The fire was something she couldn't fight. She was just a twelve year old girl and the fire had already claimed so many other lives. She couldn't do anything but wait. Wait for the end. She fight for her life against the panicked mob and try to get the last space on the elevator or make her way down the overcrowded stairs. But she was too scared to move. _I'm weak and useless! I deserve to die if won't even try to save myself! _She ranted in her mind.

A wispy ghostlike form appeared in front of her. Isabella's jaw dropped in disbelief. Even though the form was flickering and distorted thanks to the smoke it was easy to see that it was Graziella They sewed shirtwaists together on the same floor. Graziella was everything Isabella wished she could be. She was strong and brave. Not like Isabella, who was meek. Fear flooded into Isabella's body like ice water. What had happened to Graziella? Had she died? Was this form her ghost coming to haunt her forever? Her heart started to beat faster. Ironic, a few minutes from now it might not be beating at all.

Graziella waved her hand in front of Isabella's face. She could see right through it, "No Isabella! You're strong too! You've got to live for me!" Even though she was using a forceful voice Isabella could hardly hear her over the roar of the flames. Nobody else seemed to take notice of Graziella. maybe that meant that she wasn't there. Isabella wondered for a minute if she was mad. It was quite possible that she was seeing things.

Suddenly she felt someone tug on her arm. Isabella turned to find a Russian girl pulling her into the smoke. Her eyes, which were an odd shade of gray, raged angrily. Soot stained her face, giving her a mad appearance.

Isabella tried to pull away, "Do you wish to die? What are you doing?" She cried in broken English. She started to cough violently. The smoke was clogging up her lungs.

The girl clapped her hand over Isabella's mouth, "There's a way out. We must crawl across the floor," she said softly in Italian.

Isabella's eyes widened. How did the girl who was clearly not Italian learn to speak it? She seemed to know what she was doing though so she should follow her. Isabella turned around one last time. Graziella's flickering form was gone. She wondered if it had ever been there to begin with.

They crawled on their hands and knees across the floor. Isabella found that it was much easier to breathe closer to the ground. The floor was littered with ashes and charred bits of things that she didn't even want to know about. The other girl pointed at something. Isabella squinted, the smoke stinging her eyes. It was a… fire escape!

"Thank you!" Isabella exclaimed hoarsely, "We are safe now!"

They just had to get down onto the ground and then they wouldn't have to worry anymore. She was sure she'd find Graziella down there and then they would get a new job at one of the factories that offers all the things the strikers had wanted earlier. Maybe the Russian girl could join them as well.

Isabella stepped out onto the fire escape. She coughed once more. The air was still smoky and hot but it as outside air, much better. The other girl started to cough too. Then her coughing became heaves. She collapsed onto the floor right next to the fire escape.

Isabella tried to coax her onto the fire escape but the girl was too tired. She saw that despite her tough appearance she was as weak as Isabella was. She was exhausted, hungry and suffering from the smoke and heat as much as everyone else.

The girl pointed weakly at the fire escape gesturing for her to go. Isabella shook her head, tears running down her face. She had only known her for a few minutes and she didn't even know her name but she wouldn't leave her to die. That girl had saved her life.

The girl gestured again and then laid her head on the floor. Her eyes closed and didn't open again.

A lump welled up in Isabella's throat. She was dead and she knew in her heart Graziella was dead too. Her friend was dead, her father was dead and she had no one left. Not even a vision of her dead acquaintances came to comfort her or give her advice.

She ran as fast as she could down the fire escape. It was crowded but she didn't care. She was alive but so many others were dead or dying. She should feel grateful but Isabella just couldn't. So many others should be alive with her. She reached the ground hardly even realizing it.

The crowd was in hysterics just like the workers had been in the fire itself. People were screaming and crying. A boy approached Isabella. He was Russian just like the girl who had died.

_No she is not 'the girl who had died'. She is 'the girl who saved my life' _Isabella thought using her last bit of force. She was so tired; she just wanted to lie down and rest…

The boy shook her shoulders, pulling her out of her thoughts, "My friend! Have you seen her! She's Russian too! Please!" He begged in English. His face showed all of his desperation and pain.

Isabella realized with a start that he was talking about the girl who had saved her life by sacrificing her own. Suddenly enormous grief filled her. She pulled away from the boy wailing in a mixture of Italian and English.

She bumped into a girl. But this wasn't a girl who worked in the factory. The girl had probably never worked a day in her life. She was wearing a fancy dress, one Isabella could only dream of ever wearing. Her face was framed by her long brown hair that by this time had become rather disheveled. The rich girl tried to comfort Isabella but she tried to get away.

"Everyone around me dies!"she yelled in Italian, "Everyone's dead!"

She must have yelled that last part in English because the rich girl put a finger to Isabella's lips, "We're both alive. Not everyone is dead," she muttered soothingly.

Isabella sobbing decreased a little. The girl was comforting. She was like the mother Isabella had never had.

"My name is Isabella," she murmured.

"I'm Helen," The other girl said softly.

The Russian boy raised his finger and pointed at the burning building accusingly, "This is not the first time workers have been burned alive in this city. But it will be the last,"* he muttered in Russian. Then he fell to his knees and wailed, "Alexandra! It's my fault!"

**AN: The chapters get a lot less dark after this one now that the fire scenes are over. From now on feel free to guess Helen's and Isabella's godly parents. **

***Disclaimer: I do not own this half quote by Rose Schneiderman**.


	3. Chapter Three

_All say, "How hard it is that we have to die" - a strange complaint to come from the mouths of people who have had to live._

~Mark Twain

**Chapter Three: **

Helen was unsure about what she should do. That was nothing new. All twelve years of her life, one she could easily call fake, it seemed as if she had been standing on a piece of cracked ice, much like the one she had almost fell through on a frozen pond when she was younger. One foot was on one side and one on the other. She had to choose which side to jump on or she would fall into the icy water below. This time though, there was no one to save her.

The decision she had to make this time had to do with the hysterical Italian girl clinging to her. Either choice she made would end in disaster. If she left the girl here to fend for herself, an idea simply deplorable in her mind, the girl could face serious harm and Helen knew that she could never hold herself in high esteem. As a problem child she didn't possess much esteem to begin with. If she took the girl, Isabella she had said her name was, to her home to comfort her she was sure her esteem would only face yet another beating.

Her father was not a caring man. When Helen was only six she had found a kitten out in the gutter. A scrawny orange kitten with big wide eyes and the cutest mew. She had fallen in love with it almost immediately and named it Marmalade.

Her father hadn't approved. He called it a weak ugly thing that didn't deserve to be alive; it would do nothing but eat their food and waste their time. He had ordered her to throw it back outside. Helen had secretly snuck it back inside. It was a poor starving kitten. It wouldn't be right to let it die alone outside. That was the first and last time she ever disobeyed her father.

When he found that she had kept the little cat he flew into a rage. He had one of the servants drown it in a wash basin despite her protests, her cries, and begging. He told her that there was a way things worked in the world. The better off did whatever they could to become even better off. They didn't help the poor, cat or otherwise. After that Helen tried her best at being meek and mild mannered. It was hard. She wanted to talk about how justice should be meted out to those like her father. But she didn't.

Helen could just imagine what he would say. He would only go on about how _dirty _Isabella was. How _poor _she was. Helen would only be reminded how disappointing she had become.

But she had seen girls _burn alive _in a factory. Girls her age and younger jumped from windows and left the world in the most horrible way possible. Suddenly Helen had to fight of a wave of nausea and something else. All the anger and unhealthy feelings that were trapped inside her all trying to come out, along with her breakfast. She forced herself to try and gain control of the situation and her emotions. No matter how much she wanted to scream, weep, or… vomit she mustn't do any of those things. She had to be calm for Isabella, who clung to her dress like a leech muttering someone's name over and over again. She was Helen Marie Shoemaker, and she mustn't lose control.

She called over to the driver of her father's automobile, who was staring horrorstruck at the carnage. Helen once again had to find down her rising hysteria. How had she contained these complicated feelings all those years? Right now her mind was racing too fast to understand. In the length of a minute she felt a mixture of anger, fear and a strong emotion that she had only felt once, when Marmalade was drowned, hate. The feeling threatened to overwhelm her and push away all the other thoughts inside her head. She didn't even know who she hated. She just wanted to let it all out. Let all her feelings pour out.

"Take me home. Take _us _home. Now."

She, like most everyone else, did not notice the boy. Isabella had noticed him, but she was in no state to point him out. Nobody but her would have been able to care about the fair haired boy covered in crime moving determinedly away from the scene.

***

Valik looked at the still burning building he had once called his workplace for the last time. He would never return here. Nor did he want to. He never wanted to see this deplorable place again. The memories here were all bad ones anyway, why did it matter? He shivered, not knowing whether it was because of the cool March air or the onslaught of memories that bombarded his senses. The sent of rotting things in the streets, gaunt ragged creature too far gone to be called people wandering the streets looking for handouts, but the think that bothered him the most was the blatant ridiculousness of it all. The rich lived in utter luxury, not caring about the starving immigrants or the ignorant greenhorns who would work in factories akin to the one that became a deathtrap for almost nothing. It wasn't that the better off didn't know, that would be a legitimate excuse, but they didn't care. They were a source of cheap labor. But he was _better _than them.

Everyone who looked down on him for not being American was wrong. He was a child of a god, superior to the miserable lot of them. And he was tired of pretending he wasn't. Tired of acting like all the things people said about him were true. He deserved better. Alexandra deserved better. That hadn't stopped her from perishing in the factory though, her charred corpse burnt beyond recognition, trying to save others that nobody cared about. Alexandra, who was so smart that she learned English and Italian, simply did not see that her death would come far sooner than expected. Of course half-bloods like them usually didn't live very long but this was not the death that Valik had expected of her. He had expected the both of them to die together, fighting the monsters that were thought to only live in nightmares.

Tears sprang to his still stinging eyes. He angrily brushed them away and started walking. Away from the screaming spectators who hadn't known he existed five minutes ago. Alexandra was in Elysium for sure, or at least she should be. She should be living in eternal bliss while the uncaring mortals who let the fire that took her life happen, should suffer through eternal torture in the Fields of Punishment. They should experience the feeling of smoke stealing your every breath, tongues of flame licking the flesh of their bones. Valik's whole body ached at the thought. He was sure he had received burns during his escape but he would be able to heal himself.

Without a backwards glance Valik set out for the camp. There we wouldn't have to pretend. He would have time to mourn, food to eat, and training to help him become the greatest hero who ever lived. He would make his father proud and honor the memories of the dead. He tried to banish the fog of guilt that tried to cloud his thoughts. It wasn't his fault that the fire started. The blame for the chimera would not fall on him. But there would always be hints of doubt. He would have to be stronger and faster. Then he would join Alexandra when he died. They would be together forever. That was how it should be.

Then again, since when had life ever been fair to him?

**AN: I just realized that there was almost no dialouge in this chapter, strange. Please feel free to point out any errors because I've been waiting and my beta hasn't contacted me so...**


	4. Chapter Four

_Sometimes the cards we are dealt are not always fair. However you must keep smiling and move on._

~Tom Jackson

**Chapter Four:**

Valik had really hoped he wouldn't meet her. He had hoped that the dirty soot and ashes would repel people from him, make him unrecognizable. How many people in this city knew his name anyway? Only one now… But of course it had to be the only one who did that found him.

"He's dead isn't he?" Rasped a hollow voice. A voice Valik knew well but now couldn't be compared to the cheerful laughter of the girl it belonged to. Eileen had caught up with him.

Her brownish-red hair was singed on the ends and her left hand was badly burned. Her lips were cracked and bleeding. She had to lean against the wall of a building to catch her breath that came in labored gasps. Valik had never seen the daughter of Hermes so worn down and beat up.

"He's dead isn't he?" She repeated. Valik felt like he had been punched in the gut. He had been hoping that Alexandra had been able to save Eileen and Aiden. But she hadn't. Had she died for nothing than?

Eileen didn't give him a chance to answer, "He was my brother," she said as if he didn't know that, "my twin."

Valik just nodded. There was nothing to say. Eileen's pain must be as bad as his or worse and she wasn't coping well at all. Her chest heaved and she was making strange hiccupping sounds from her throat.

"We should get back to camp," he said. Surely they could get a ride from the Gray Sisters? He realized that he didn't have any drachmas. He would have to go back to the tenement to get some. Maybe Eileen had one. He glanced at her, slumped against the wall, bent over with body shaking sobs. Maybe not, he wasn't going to ask.

Valik crouched next to Eileen and waited. She wouldn't want her to try to comfort her. It wouldn't work anyway. It was better to not hold anything in. So, if there was anytime to become hysterical it was now.

Fast as a manticore's tail, Eileen's hand shot out and grabbed his arm in a fierce unyielding grip. She didn't seem to see what she was doing through her tears. She needed something to hold onto. Her nails pierced his skin, drawing blood. Valik just stared at the crimson drops. He didn't like their redness; it reminded him of the all consuming flames. Was it possible that red had been his favorite color only yesterday? From now on it would be blue, the water that puts out fire. Filip would like that. He could imagine his friend's amused expression when he told him that. Dimitre would laugh too, but he laughed at everything.

Suddenly Valik blinked and mentally kicked himself. He had been worrying about others all day. How had he not thought of camp?

***

Florentina followed her friend's glares with her eyes. Gemma was once again focusing her renowned anger on three girls. They were American with blond hair and blue eyes, precisely the reason Gemma didn't like them.

"You don't have to hate them so," Florentina said in Italian as to not be overheard. There was only one non-Italian that would have understood them and she was not there. She would never be there, but Florentina and Gemma didn't know that.

"They hate us. Why not return the favor?" Gemma responded, gray eyes flashing. For a daughter of Athena she was rather rash. She often looked before she leaped and spoke before she thought. It was a sort of joke everyone made about her but was not to be said to her face if you valued your nose.

"I think it's because you're the only girl in the camp with the forwardness to attack boys twice your size," Florentina said dryly, half joking half serious.

"Somebody was going to have to show Kallen that he could not shove his weight around all the time," she said stubbornly. Florentina smiled. It _had _been humorous seeing a huge son of Ares get beaten by a tiny twelve year old girl. You could not underestimate Gemma's anger. Or her sword.

"Besides, I know the real reason they don't like us," Gemma said seriously. Florentina knew it too but Gemma beat her to the punch, "we're Italian. Those American girls only like other Americans."

Florentina didn't deny it. Even though they were all half-bloods they did not get along. Your race, godly parent, whether you were an immigrant or not made up who you would spend your time with. There was only one person she knew who had ever broken the rule. Alexandra. Gemma's half-sister and Florentina's other best friend. She prided herself in being the reason that Alexandra learned Italian in the first place. She wasn't like the others who thought that everyone should learn their language. Gemma and Florentina had tried to follow her lead but stumbled hopelessly over Russian and had ended up settling on mastering English.

That was the reason that, as they walked closer, Florentina and Gemma could understand every word the American girls said.

"The satyrs have been talking about something. Something bad," one of the girls, Mary, said.

"The satyrs are always talking. It's probably nothing," another girl, Florentina believed her name was Elizabeth, said.

"I think Mary's right. Did you see how riled Edward was? Something bad happened," said the last girl worriedly, her bright blue eyes so different than Florentina's dark brown, reflecting her anxiety.

"Well, no matter, it's none of our business," said Elizabeth offhandedly.

The moment they were out of earshot Gemma and Florentina shared an exasperated look, "They're so _meek_," Gemma said distastefully, like being meek was the worst thing you could be.

Florentina giggled, "You've never been meek?"

Gemma waved her hand, "I lost my meekness once I met the Ares cabin," then she frowned, "what do you think they meant by something bad happening?"

"I don't know," Florentina replied slightly nervous. Usually she would not listen to anything those girls said but they were not known to even be slightly worried about anything. Whatever happened must have been serious for two of them to be nervous.

Suddenly the two of them saw someone jogging up to them. It was someone they knew very well. Donatello was their only friend that stayed all year here at camp. He was also a son of Hermes and Italian so that helped.

He wasn't even out of breath by the time he had reached them. But the expression on his face was enough to show them that something wasn't right.

"Gemma. Florentina. There was an… accident."

**AN: I was wondering if anybody would support a name change. I was thinking of changing the title to Trial by Fire because of a… event later in the story. Also Friends by Fire seems sort of kindergarteny **


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